


The Last Cotilonna

by Susamo



Category: Perry Rhodan - Various Authors
Genre: Alternate Reality, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:08:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28450665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Susamo/pseuds/Susamo
Summary: In the alternate reality where Atlan da Gonozal grew up at the Court of Arkon and Gonozal the Seventh was his eldest uncle Cunor, he is thirty-seven and ready to present the woman at Court he wishes to marry, against the will of the Imperator or his father. He will fight for his love and will bring her to the Celebration of the Old Year and the New, at the Third Eve of the Katanoi da Capit, the last five days of the year. This is about time, remembering old friends one has lost and hoping for new ones and a new life. And then, of course, there's a twist...
Relationships: Atlan da Gonozal - Relationship, Sinyagi da Ettorkhal
Comments: 4
Kudos: 2





	The Last Cotilonna

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Palatinedreams](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Palatinedreams/gifts).



> Dear palatinedreams, your birthday present warmed my heart and made me feel incredibly happy. This here is my gift in return-about old things ending, faded relationships passing and new ones beginning, and new things upon new paths unfolding. A good and peaceful passing of the old year to you, and happy and hopeful and fruitful new beginnings in the new one, and may whatever you wish for come true, in its own good time when it is the best time for it!
> 
> Note that all Arkonides have red eyes and white hair. They are the inhabitants of the system of Arkon with Tiga Ranton, the Three Worlds, at the center, and the Crystal World at its heart. The Great Empire of Arkon consists of about 50.000 worlds and is currently fighting for its very existence against the Maahks. It is the time of about ten thousand years ago when Atlan da Gonozal was as old as he looked like and had just been given the cellular activator that would render him immortal. We are in a reality alternate to the universe of Perry Rhodan, where Atlan is not the son of a murdered Imperator, hunted through the galaxy by his murderous uncle and overcoming him in the end, but in a reality where he grew up at the Court of Arkon and where his uncle Cunor rules as the Imperator Gonozal the seventh. Upoc, the second brother, is a genius composer as he is in the Perryverse, and the third brother Crest is Atlan's father.

The Last Cotilonna

Rikkho Sa’Halek, the Shaykhar prathyathon da Gos athor, the personal servant of the Crystal Prince of Arkon, held up the newly delivered jacket to let his master inspect it. Light red as any formal outfit of his Eminent Highness had to be, it still sported a few alterations to the style worn last year, sparsely and most tastefully decorated with applications of Luurs metal. What the Crystal Prince did not show in opulence he made up for with quality.

With an appreciative smile, Atlan da Gonozal viewed the jacket and put it on, and looked at himself in the mirror screen. It went well with the white trousers and the creamy white shirt, sporting a soldier’s high collar and reminding everyone subtly that the Gos athor, though he would appear at a civilian holiday today, was a keon-athor of the Fleet in his own right and one of the best strategists the Tai Ark’Tussan, the Great Empire of Arkon, had at this time of the Terrible War against the Maahks.

The long black mantle, hemmed and stitched in silver in the Gos athor’s case, was fitted easily by the magnetic clamps hidden in the fabric, and lent even more elegance and impressiveness to the tall and slender, yet athletic figure of the wearer, and again fit well with the black knee-high military boots polished to mirror hue.  
Instead of a broad belt as other less well-trained men wore it, Atlan closed the jacket with only a clasp at the waist, a crystal set in silver glittering impressively, shaped like a rhombus, which was the very symbol of the Gos athor. 

“Zhdopan-sa, you look perfect!” Rikkho said, admiration and relief in his dark eyes. It was his responsibility to fit out his master appropriately for every occasion and need, according to fashion and instigating fashion trends no less. One could bet upon it that half the young nobles at Court were going to wear Luurs metal to the next reception.

Atlan grinned and swept his body servant a half-bow in thanks. Rikkho Sa’Halek was a native of Zalit, no high-born Arkonide of noble descent, and even no true-born son of Tiga Ranton, the Three Planets of Arkon. He was a colonial, though of the first and highest-ranking colony the Arkonath had settled, and his appointment to the post of the Gos athor’s personal servant had been a scandal of the highest order. 

Against his uncle the Imperator’s wish the Gos athor had insisted upon Rikkho’s services, explaining his choice as the best one politically, to gain the goodwill of the colonials, which was in fact true. But there was a personal reason too: When he had been only seventeen, the young Crystal Prince had gone on a mission against a criminal organisation set upon weakening the Fleet-a plan instigated by the Secret Service of the Maahks-and had rescued Rikkho personally from a dire fate. The young man was absolutely loyal in consequence and would have given his life in an instant for his master, which was a quality no young man from highest nobility, acting rather to the interests of his own family, would have offered.

Atlan da Gonozal was thirty-seven now and young for the rank he had been promoted to, a keon-athor bearing the emblem of two suns, a fleet admiral commanding ten thousand ships and already a hero of this deadly war. But again, there was a special reason for this premature promotion. About a year ago he had brought home the construction plans for a new weapon which promised to become the ultimate instrument to defeat the Maahks at long last and save the Tai Ark’Tussan and its inhabitants of about fifty billions of people, living upon fifty thousand worlds.

According to the secret report he had given the Imperator, he had been handed these plans as a gift by a robot in a small ship of unknown origin. Its master, the machine had explained, was willing to save the Arkonath kind and its many colonial peoples, and offered his support in this way. As well, as a personal gift, the robot had endowed its guest with a mysterious object, a small egg-shaped pendant which had been called a cellular activator. The thing had been said to give its bearer relative immortality, keeping him young and healthy forever, provided that bearer did not die by an accident or an attack. For now, after only one year of constantly wearing the gadget, Atlan could not confirm that promise. But it was a fact that he needed far less sleep than before and that any wounds he received healed far swifter than they would do naturally. Neither could any poison affect him any longer, as proven by secret self-experimentation. The gift of the robot-or its master, who had only made himself known by a bout of extremely loud and intense laughter-seemed to do what it had been said it would. 

Putting the activator around his neck again after dressing the Gos athor da Arkon was ready to face the Court, and His Eminence the Tai Moas, the Imperator of Arkon. And he was ready to create another scandal that would upset the Court of Arkon for several Votani, for months.

As the Gos athor da Arkon, he was heir to the throne and the designated successor of his uncle and should have chosen a wife years ago. The events of the Tai Akh’Gor, the Great Terrible War, against the Maahks had intervened, and apart from listening politely to the proposals of his father Crest, his uncle Cunor, who was eldest of the three brothers and the Imperator, and of the Crystal Marshal Atlan had done absolutely nothing. He was expected to form a House Alliance worth the name, find and marry a most noble princess from a family that was not only a Thi Khasurn-the highest kind of nobility that existed-but also Eldrith, the “Noblest of the Noble”, literally of the Flower of Nobility. Gonozal, which was the Imperial Khasurn at the moment, was such a House, as were Zoltral, Orcast or Quertamagin. So was Ragnaari, the family Atlan’s paternal grandmother had come from. They-and every other Eldrith family-had several princesses of marriable age and sufficient beauty to offer, every one of them. It should not have been too difficult to find a fitting mekhan.  
But none of them knew what the Gos athor felt he needed in a wife who could understand him truly, a lady he could truly find that deep resonance with, heart finding heart and soul finding soul as it should happen with a true life-mate, a man and a woman complementing each other and being for each other what the other needed in life as it happened in Dagor ceremony where a thos’athor met his zhy fam, a young man of Ice found his lady of Fire.

They were all what was termed Court mekhans-ladies who knew the court and the nobility to the last click, were well versed in intrigue and knew how to manipulate and put on acts to impress others. They were all façade and little else, beauties who had no truth to offer beyond that. Fashion counted for them, and a contest of words and outer appearances. Which one of these puppets knew about the harsh reality of the war, of warships exploding in the fire of Maahkath guns, of a sickbay full of groaning men and women after a battle, who could not all be treated in time because they were so many?

Still, Atlan would dutifully have tried to find the true jewel among worthless polished pebbles, if he hadn’t already found the one who had his heart and-ah-more of him. She was everything he could have hoped and wished for. The catch was, she wasn’t Eldrith, and she wasn’t what the Court would have thought fitting to become the Crystal Princess, and later the Imperatrix of the Tai Ark’Tussan.

Sinyagi da Ettorkhal came from an honourable Thi-Khasurn house and was a well-merited officer of the Fleet, a Vere-athor who commanded a Lakan, a high-risk command of ten ships ready to go on mission every moment where Fleet High Command would send her and her soldiers. She would not flinch at the sound of the klaxon howling “highest danger”, but would start forward facing that danger and eliminating it, her wit not used for idle prattle and stingy comments but for outwitting the enemy and turning Maahkath ships into dissipating clouds of ionic gas.

They had an affair going on for years now, indulgently tolerated by the Imperator since officially it was nothing but a sweet affair of love, on-and-off because they both were sent on missions ceaselessly and only could meet here or there where and when their flight schedules and their mission plans allowed it. 

But the Gos athor was determined to end this state of the matter. If he had to marry and choose a wife, it should be her, Sinyagi da Ettorkhal, who knew him and understood him better than any lady sheltered and pampered at Court ever could. If His Eminence the Imperator of the Empire and his father, the Tai Mascant, could not understand that, then the Dark Star Spirits should take them all and send them to deepest Ereinnye, and all the Court officials too who dared to gainsay what Atlan thought of as the joy and bliss of his life.

Grimly smiling he turned on his heel and went to the door, where Kelar had waited patiently. Sen Tharg-athor Kelar da Ghimarol, the Gos athor’s personal bodyguard, had created just such a scandal when he was chosen for this post by his young master, when Atlan had been twelve and had escaped Maahkath imprisonment and had managed to ground their station upon an unknown moon. Coming from Mascant Sakal’s side and security troupe, Kelar was the Soldier and Fleeter personified at the Gos athor’s back and a dark reminder of the war wherever the young Crystal Prince went, the skeleton at every ball and reception. Many had resented that among the nobles wanting to celebrate their feasts thoughtlessly and easily, but this Gos athor had been confronted with war and death and harsh reality at the tender age of twelve and took no nonsense ever after, young as he had been. A child of the War, his grandmother had called him, no illusions left to him and no happy childhood either after he had had to watch his nanny and his former bodyguard die upon the ship where he was kidnapped to serve as a hostage. On that day, he had grown up within one death-filled hour.

Now, he could not care less about the opinions of witless puppets bent on intrigue instead of standing up to reality, and neither did he care about another scandal breaching the idle comfort of some courtiers.

The Katanoi of the Capit were the last five days of the year when it was time to look back and celebrate the old year going, and look forward to the new year coming. It was time to remember and to hope. It was the time when from the fire in the home hearth the flame in the carrier globe was lighted, and then the fire in the home hearth was extinguished to symbolize the journey the Arkonath had made from Arbaraith, their ancient home of legend, till they had found Arkon and had settled there. At sunrise of the first day of the new year, the fire was transferred back and the carrier globe went dark till the next Katanoi. Every Arkonath home had its home hearth with a real fire or at least a lighted globe ceaselessly burning, be it a single room or a whole Khasurn palace, or the home hearth of Arkon itself at the Crystal Palace where the Imperator and his family resided. 

And then, the Katanoi of the Capit were the days when in the olden times the Gods of fertility had been revered and had been asked to bless the people with children. The ancient settlers had had need for that blessing after they had lost Arbaraith and had gone through two terrible wars against the ancient oppressors and enemies. Nowadays these old rituals no longer were celebrated as they had been thousands of years ago, but the blood toll the Arkonath paid in the Maahkath wars was heavy and devastating. Lately, people found meaning again in appealing to the gods and invoking the ancient powers of the She’huan.

For that reason, the Imperator, as well as the Gos athor as the representatives of their people, were expected to sacrifice to the Gods this third night of the Katanoi in private and ask them for their blessing for all their subjects, for fertility and life even in the face of death, and then they were to sleep with their wives to seal the ritual.

His Eminence Cunor da Gonozal the seventh had no Imperatrix anymore, since Farnathia, born da Orcast, had died in an accident, and he had not married again for political reasons. The High Priestess of Mathrenna, the maternal Goddess of Abundance and Life, would take her place tonight. Atlan, as yet unmarried, would have been accompanied by the High Priestess of Qinshora, the Goddess of Love-if he had not asked someone else instead, who would be his betrothed and his wife in the future. Hence the expected scandal which could not be avoided, and which he was determined to create, bringing her to this gathering and making her his official companion even before the gods. 

His father and his uncle could deny him his wish to marry Sinyagi all they wanted after-before the Gods, she would have become his once they had shared Third Night, and in the end, they would have to give way.

“Admit it, fool-you are looking forward to the outrage and the ruckus”, the extra sense sent to its mental partner. The Gos athor turned his wrist, agreeing with a grim smile. Yes, he was looking forward to confronting his father and his uncle with the fact that he would not give in now, and would take for himself the wife he longed for and whom he had chosen for himself!

With determination, he went forward, Kelar at his back as always, and ten of the Silvers, the Gos athor’s contingent of the Crystal Guard, fell into step behind them. The way to the Taisaya, the Great Hall, was not far. But before he would reach it, at the last turn-

There she was. There she was, and the light of the shimmera globes lighting the hallway seemed to create an aureole around her figure. Her beauty took Atlan’s breath away and his eyes lighted up. Gods, she was all he ever could have wished for.

Sinyagi smiled at him, almost as tall as he, her long strands of silvery-white hair no longer in a simple braid as she wore it shipboard. Now they were put up in an elegant coiffure and held by the chain of shiral crystals he had given to her, their amber glow illuminating her face and letting golden sparks dance in her dark red eyes. At both sides just behind the ears, two long strands of hair fell in playful ringlets down to her shoulders, hinting at what they would be about this night. At a formal ball, this symbol of a woman sitting atop and circling her hips would have been bad taste at best, but today when the Gods of Life were celebrated, such attire was most fitting. Atlan could not help smiling widely. Gods, she was a joy to behold. 

Her dress was white and amber and had more shirals sewn on, a gossamer sheet of finest mahkan silk trailing behind her while in front the hem went no lower than her knees, showing off her long and perfectly shaped legs with her sandals bound up to the knee with shimmering silken cords.

“Gods, Sinhya”, he breathed and bowed to her in true admiration as she bowed to him, somewhat lower. He was the Gos athor, after all.

“I’m not wearing my Fleeter dress uniform today”, Sinyagi said with a wicked smile. “Do you think, my Prince, that your father will like me better for that?”

Atlan coughed with laughter just held back. She was not a whit afraid of the Court and his family, and not even of his uncle the Imperator, might all the Gods be thanked. But then, neither had she ever been afraid of Maahkath fire or any battle fought between the stars. Their battle for their future together, though, would be fought this night, and now.

She came to his left side and took his arm, and they went on, towards the door whose wings flew open. The Gos athor’s fanfare was played, and he entered the Taisaya to walk down the whole hall with Sinyagi da Ettorkhal on his arm, to bow before his uncle the Imperator of the Tai Ark’Tussan.

His Eminence controlled himself masterfully. The smile upon his lips had frozen for a moment, and his eyes flashed daggers at his bold nephew. But in front of the whole Court and highest nobility gaping anyway he decided not to shame the rascal in public by sending this woman away. She was a hero of the war no less than his impudent nephew was, and had won several commendations only lately, celebrated Imperium-wide. To throw her out, literally, would create a scandal even worse than her attending this reception would do. Atlan, the rascal, had chosen his moment perfectly to present her in a way that could not be gainsaid. 

So Tai Moas Gonozal the Seventh inclined his head gracefully as the Gos athor and his companion bowed before him and then ascended the dais to the side to sit down somewhat lower. The hall was so quiet one could hear the Morannii plants rustle in the background, and then the fanfare was played again and more members of the Gonozal family entered, Seliya, the Imperatrix dowager in the fore, and her other two sons following her with their wives, Upoc the composer and Crest, Atlan’s father. 

The old lady was the only one who smiled at the Gos athor and his companion, clearly amused. Crest had blanched and looked as if he would explode every moment, while Yagthara, Atlan’s mother, rather looked helpless and sad. Upoc’s lips quirked up, a tiny signal of his hidden approval. Not everyone was without sympathy.

Crest kept his countenance with an effort as he caught the warning glance of his Imperial brother and bowed stiffly to his son who outranked him since he had taken his Oath as the Gos athor at age twelve. But his look else promised an ice storm to come.

Atlan bowed back with Sinyagi at his side and smiled warmly at his father. He was sure now that his Imperial uncle would not throw him to the Luykan pack and expose him and his chosen one to the whole Court, and the whole Tai Ark’ Tussan in addition since Ark’media was covering the events of this night in full, of course. Appearances had to be kept. It was politically unwise to send Sinyagi away when billions of citizens were watching and seeing their heroes of the war treated dishonourably. As well, the weapon that was promising to turn the fortunes of the war to Arkon’s advantage at long last had been found by the Gos athor only a year ago, who had been promoted for that. To call Atlan’s bluff here and now was impossible, under the circumstances.

Taking a deep breath in relief he glanced at his love, whose cheeks were colouring too. No matter that Sinyagi was fearless in front of a Maahkath squadron attacking, she must have been nervous enough to face Crest da Gonozal, and neither was this confrontation done with yet. For now, and this night, the Gos athor’s father was forced to keep to the truce His Eminence had imposed. But come morning the ruckus would start in earnest, though in private. Before his inner eye, Atlan saw Family Council called, and heard his father yell at him in his mind. But, no matter. Grandmother Seliya had smiled, and that was a tell-tale sign that she was on his side. Crest would not win an argument with his mother.

After that breathless silence before, the low murmur of a hall filled with courtiers and celebrants of many kinds of people had returned, somewhat louder than before. The Gos athor knew that most guests were staring at him and his companion, in a manner well hidden and less well hidden too. Ark’media’s flying camera drones had covered them from the moment they had entered the Great Hall and would be glued to them till they left. But that they had known from the start. The Gos athor always was news, and tonight-he and his companion truly were.

At the Imperator’s signal, the fanfare was played again to start the performances traditional to Third Eve, and Third Night. This was about time, the present and the Past, and the Future. Soy Votanthare, the Circle of Time, the traditional dance was called which would be performed now, and expectant quiet settled over the spectators in the Great Hall of the Crystal Palace. 

The orchestra began to play, presenting a new composition of Upoc da Gonozal, the genius musician, arranged for exactly this occasion. Softly flutes sounded in the silence, following a gentle melody, a little melancholic as one wistfully remembered bygone times and the images of innocent childhood. Cymbals and little bells chimed in, adding a bit of rhythm to the music, with a long metal flute giving stronger accents and a more purposeful air. To the first taps of a drum, the dancers began to come in, an old couple as the first of them stepping up slowly and in an elegant and dignified manner, dancing to the measures of an old-fashioned Cantilla, followed by a somewhat younger but still elderly couple in the traditional dress of farmers-not that many essoya upon the Arkon worlds still had that profession, producing exclusive specialities. The overwhelming majority of foodstuffs were produced by enormous robotic farms throughout the system and farther off on colonial planets. But tradition was held up and was celebrated, and the more so now when the existence of the Arkonath culture itself was endangered.

The second couple danced to the steps of a rural Cantilene. Upoc da Ganonzal’s piece was ingeniously fitted to accompany every dancing step traditionally shown at the Soy Votanthare, and it was no less perfect to dance to with the steps of dovule nanekhran, “turn and return”. The third couple one could call middle-aged, dressed like well-to-do merchanters and wearing their hairstyle, long braids down their backs, came in dancing to these steps, joining the other two pairs slowly following an imaginary circle on the floor.  
The musicians added the sound of the string instruments, and the fourth couple joined the others, a young and lovely pair moving to the steps of Khatil melas, the Dance of Love. 

The flutes came again, cheerfully trilling to the entrance of the last ones, a girl and a boy just having turned twelve, hopping and turning to the style of Khatil skantha. The Single dances were complete, and the couples parted to form the Circle of Ten, the Ten of Time, of the Present, ten as there were ten Votani to a year, the oldest man reaching out to the youngest girl, the dancers now moving to the steps of the Soy Votanthare, the Ring of Time.

It was the same every year, Atlan thought in fascination, but it was as heart-lifting and awe-inspiring as it was every time he saw this dance and watched these ceremonies. Tradition was what formed identity no less than other matters, and this was an important part of the Arkonath culture and its identity. Billions of people sat at home watching and celebrating, eating sweet or salty pastries in the form of rings and drinking soured water to remember the simplicity of the beginning when the new settlers upon the Arkon planets had had little more than that to drink.

To the heavy pulsing of the great drum, the last couple entered the dancing floor, an old man in a dark grey robe, representing the Past, and a young woman in white, coming veiled, representing the Future. Those two turned slowly to the beat in the middle of the circle, turning Ten to Twelve and so making up the Perfect Number, symbolizing Eternity.

Deeply affected the Court watched the wonderful performance and called ber-sah! Bravo! to the dancers once the music had stopped and the dancers filed out in a long line, holding hands still. The Imperator stood, and with him his family members, and it became quiet immediately in the Taisaya, the Great Hall of the Crystal Palace.

The media drones kept their focus upon Tai Moas Gonozal the seventh as he spoke to his people now and all the citizens of the Tai Ark’Tussan, thanking them for their efforts in this war and commending the dead, soldiers as well as simple people who had done everything they could to defend their loved ones from death and destruction, perpetrated by the terrible enemies, the hydrogen-breathing Maahks. But there was true hope lately. The Gos athor had brought home the plans for a weapon that was indeed offering every chance to fight the Maahks successfully at long last, a new kind of beamer cannon which would become standard equipment of every warship the Tai Ark’Tussan had, and which had started into serial production. The next year, 10.517 since the founding of the Empire, would see the Turn-around of the Sword of Fate, and the Maahks would begin to retreat till they would be destroyed and this menace to the Great Empire of Arkon would be annihilated.

“Take heart, my people, trust in the Gods and have Hope again, for we have every reason to hope in truth!” Gonozal the seventh ended his speech, and the jubilant acclamations after were deafening. The Courtiers and the many ambassadors of the colonials and the non-arkonoid peoples of the Empire, bird-like Scü and felinoid Orbeki, walking plants like the Morannii or the saurian Dron, addressed not only the Imperator but also the Gos athor. Atlan smiled into the camera lenses and inclined his head gracefully. 

“The Fleet! The Fleet!” some intrepid Mehandor, the merchanters, were shouting, and many took up the call. To them, it looked like an intended signal that the Gos athor had chosen a lady who was a hero of the war as was he, an undaunted Lakan commander who had fought several battles and skirmishes which had deflected great dangers to whole systems and worlds. Sinyagi at his side was a promise that the Fleet would sweep the Methans away for good and make an end of those attacks and the death of milliards of people they brought each time.

Taking Sinyha’s hand and raising it high with his the Gos athor struck a pose of victory in front of the cameras, at which the shouts and the jubilation grew even louder and more intense. He turned his head and looked at her, full of joy and triumph, and she smiled back and then looked into the lenses as bravely and joyful. No-one could mistake those looks, and the promise they gave else. Come wrath of his father or the storm of a Maahkath Fleet, no-one could part them now, and the signals of hope and promise they had given the citizens could not be gainsaid either, ever.

The noise died down at long last, and His Eminence the Imperator stepped down the dais and gave a tiny signal to the Gos athor and his lady to accompany him. The people in the Great Hall were relaxed now and looked joyful where they had looked scandalised before. 

They went to the Hall of Feasting and took their places at the table to eat the traditional Dinner of Third Eve, while the other guests were led to their places in that hall and the other ones surrounding the Great Hall, special foods offered to the non-arkonoid kinds according to their customs and needs.

The Arkonath ate fish and mussels today and nuts which were said to wake and strengthen desire. With ceremony, the High Priestess of Mathrenna had entered and had been guided to the Imperator’s side, whom she would accompany to bed this night. Atlan had held on to Sinyagi’s hand in full public view and had guided her to her seat at his side, ignoring any misgiving glance from his father or anyone else. 

After the first course, well-spiced soup of mushrooms and a salad of Spittha eels, the Imperator turned to the Gos athor.

“Well-staged, dear nephew”, he said, an ironic tinge unmistakable in his voice. “But it has served to give true hope to our peoples, and that is worth everything. Possibly your choice is better than I, or your father, would have thought. You know why we have not approved of it until now. But-perhaps a Warrior is better than a Courtier, currently. The matter of the Great House Alliance we must hand on to the next generation, it seems.”

The Gos athor saw his beloved blush at his side and felt himself lightening up all the way. To his wide-eyed stare, the Imperator added, smiling slightly:” Your father is that enraged because he has put the same hope in you. He did not make a House Alliance of the high political kind either, you know. He, too, followed his heart and married a mekhan of Agh’Hay-Boor, your mother, who is not an Eldrith Khasurn either. Why should he expect differently from his son, I have asked him yesterday. He will come around, and after this acclamation the sooner. He is not deaf to the voice of the public.”

Gonozal the Seventh’s look grew stern. “There is this condition, though: An Imperatrix of the Tai Ark’Tussan must be able to perform faultlessly on the diplomatic as well as on the ritual floor. She must preside at banquets and ceremonies and represent the people before the Gods. Sinyagi da Ettorkhal is a good strategist and a competent commander, but she must feel as much at home in the Crystal Palace and know how to guide and command there no less. The two of you will have time enough to learn how to play your parts and fulfil your duties. But only you, Atlan, will board your warship again after New Year’s Day. If the mekhan da Ettorkhal wishes to stay at your side, she must learn how to be a Crystal Princess instead of a Lakan Commander. Thanked should be the Gods for the fact that she has a logic sector and a photographic memory as you have it, and as few of the Courtier mekhans possess it. Another point in favour of your chosen one, actually, dear nephew. I will give her the duration of next year. At the next Katanoi, I will allow you to call her your Betrothed, then.”

Atlan da Gonozal took a deep breath and looked at Sinyagi. She turned her wrist in agreement and smiled. 

“I hear and obey your command, Your Eminence”, she simply replied, inclining her head. “I will do so, and I will succeed.”

“It is agreed upon then, and decided.” The Imperator smiled faintly and turned his own wrist. “You have faced the Maahks bravely, as I know. I assure you, mekhan Sinyagi, that even the Crystal Master is a bit less daunting. Though only a little.”

The Gos athor laughed outright, and his beloved grinned widely in an absolutely un-ladylike manner. The Courtiers would have to get used to her as well. She would not always act like a demure and soft Court mekhan, whose only concern was dresses and gossip. Those ladies were in for some surprises as well!

Dinner went on merrily then, and after that, the guests could mingle and talk and dance if they so wished. The Dance to end the Evening traditionally where the Imperator with the High Priestess of Mathrenna would lead, would be the Grand Cotilonna, and the last one he would dance before he had to board his flagship again, Atlan knew.

He had no wish to spend his time now with small talk and inane prattle. His heart was full of joy, and he wanted to spend these hours with his beloved in quiet before they had to join the Court once more. Bowing to the Imperator and taking Sinyha’s hand, he made for the gardens which covered the bottom floor of the Crystal Palace’s inner courtyard and rose up on the tiers of the floors above to half the palace’s height.

Here they had some privacy, though Kelar followed unobtrusively and at least four of the Silvers kept watch. That was something a Gos athor of the Tai Ark’Tussan had to put up with.

Sitting down with Sinyagi on a hidden bench among fragrantly blooming bushes, the only light a hovering shimmera globe, the Gos athor took his beloved into his arms and kissed her, and the world went away for them for a little time. 

“You were brave indeed to agree to these conditions”, Atlan murmured and gave her another kiss, and another.

“We have talked about this long enough, and I knew what I was in for when you proposed to me”, Sinyagi murmured back. "This packet is bound with a cord that keeps much together. I know that I cannot pick only one part and leave the others untouched. Neither am I ignorant about the role a Gos athora or an Imperatrix must play. It is not my place then to command a ship or a Lakan. I must use other ways to serve my people, and the Empire, then. So must you when your time comes, Atlan. An Imperator sends out his fleets, but he seldom leads in battle himself. He must see to the whole and cannot risk himself as you do now. Apart from the fact that you shouldn’t, either, for the same reason.”

Sinyagi’s voice betrayed true worry.

“I know.” Atlan sighed and stood, and took her hand as she followed him and they began to walk on slowly, down a path through blooming plants of every kind. 

“I am good at strategy and warfare, and I am not willing to waste my talents. As well, my knowledge is needed dearly in this war. Do you know, I started serving actively when I had just turned twelve?”

Surprised, Sinyagi lifted her chin in denial. “Really?”

“Really.” The Gos athor smiled. “I had been abducted by Arkonath who had been influenced and mentally been turned by the Maahks. I escaped my captors, only to end up on a colonial world where I could not appeal to the authorities because the-actually unwilling-traitors held sway there. I was very young, but I managed to get through and find ways to survive. I found friends then, and even love.”

“That must be Karena, the so famous singer you are talking about”, Sinyagi wondered.

Atlan smiled and inclined his head. “At the time she was a famkarthona, a lady of joy, not even a courtesan. But she already could sing and dance to take your breath away. She knew me as an orphaned mehandor boy, nothing better, and she loved me for myself, not for my title and my rank. The way you love me, as I know very well.”

“This is why you would not take less than the love of a woman who loves you, the man, and not the Gos athor”, Sinyagi said softly. “It seems mekhan Karena has spoiled you from a young age and made you know true love from the start.” 

“So she did.” The Gos athor turned his wrist in agreement. “And so it was with Seracia, my first mistress as well. She was not on the list the Crystal Master had put up for fitting mekhans. There too, I went to look for a likely lady myself and found her on my own. I don’t know how my father expected otherwise of me, concerning my wife.”

She laughed, and they embraced and kissed. “You never were willing to keep to an enforced tradition where it bound yourself”, she giggled. “You always were an outrage!”

“Always”, Atlan said firmly. “I promise.” They laughed outright and felt free and merry.

“I found friends upon that colonial world, Bonded Brothers and Sisters of the gang I had to live with upon that colonial world. We saved each other’s lives several times. Karena could not be my mistress once I had returned to Arkon-she was a commoner, and essoya, and could only be made an On, which is the lowest rank of nobility and not fitting for a Gos athor. But my Bonded Sister she was and has stayed. Father had the whole gang brought to our Home Khasurn in the highlands of Koghruk, here upon the Crystal World. They got the best education possible and have made their way, every one of them. Rhonn, the gang’s leader, has become one of the best and most ingenious engineers and has even gained the Ark Summia, and with that a logic sector. Aday, our positronicon’s wizard, has gone on to be an excellent programmer and mathematician. And Karena, my Karena, has become a Singer and Dancer who is known Imperium-wide. She will perform the Dance of the Safayeh on the last day of the Katanoi.”

Sinyagi gasped. “That’s a great honour!” she exclaimed. The Gos athor agreed. 

“Yes. She has deserved it, though. From the moment I left her she has trained herself and worked extremely hard to be worthy of me and the Bond we share-no longer one of lovers, but of a brother and a sister. She-and Rhonn, and Aday, and the others of that gang of street-kids of a colonial backwater planet, have been friends to me who were and are most precious. They have shown me truth, and simplicity, reality beyond the sweet illusion the Court here throws at me. I bear titles that are rattled off for minutes at receptions and diplomatic events. Gods. I hate that. With them, I am just Atlan, no more and no less. As I am with you. You treat me as simply and naturally in private, Sinyagi, and that is why I would have you and no other-apart from your many other qualities.”

They embraced again and kissed. The Silvers saw to it that they had their privacy, and no-one walked their way. Being the Gos athor had its advantages.

“To leave that colonial world, I made myself much older by a fake ID and joined the fleet as a civilian volunteer on a ship that came by on its regular route. They took me on as an apprentice engineer, and I served as a true fleeter for more than a Votan. That gave me an early and true look and insight into the fleet and ordinary people and soldiers. Actually, it was a gift of the Gods for me to learn, and to understand. As the Gos athor, one is not taught to understand the ordinary people, else.”

“But could you keep all your friends of your days of youth?” the woman asked softly. “Because I could not. Any soldier knows, be she a simple fighter from the ranks or an officer like me or even as high up as Mascant Sakal, that we will lose some of the ones we care for, and love. Life is like that, and the more so in a war.”

“Yes.” Atlan sighed. “One of the best I knew was Kwan da Arthamin. Brave to the edge of recklessness, ingenious, a comrade as true as the Sword of Fate itself. Sometimes, in my dreams, I still hear him laugh and joke at our enemies. Kwan faced danger laughing and charged ahead. He did so at Khorsal and was lost to us. The war took him as it did with so many others; at Khorsal, I lost my entire Ninth Flotilla. We won that battle, but we paid a high price for it.”

“Of Khorsal, I have heard.” Sinyagi’s face had become serious. “When I went on my first mission at the Nebula sector as a young ship’s captain, we were surprised by a contingent of Thaaffs. Those allies of the Maahks often are not calculated in properly by some strategists. They act cowardly, but when they have the advantage, they can fight fiercely and will sacrifice much to win. I survived, and the ship I commanded as well. None of the others did, though, and I had to flee without getting any honour out of the fight else. Our admiral told me that losing a battle meant that one learns a lot more than by winning. That was true, but what about those who died? They had no benefit out of that lesson of Fate!”

The Gos athor took his beloved into his arms firmly. “The Gods let a sun die as a nova, but at the same time, they let another star be born. I had a friend, a young man I took for a Bonded Brother as I did take Rhonn, and he was that for me too, for a time. But people change, and nothing can be taken for granted forever. He was-is-Bel Etir Baj, a Shader on the fringe of society. His mother was Con-Treh, who are mortal enemies to my family, his father a zharak-athor, a criminal leader. His is a Shader Clan, and in the end, he could not overcome the hold that Bond had on him, and the darkness that reached out for him and took hold of him again even after he had met and befriended me. 

One day, he suddenly went at me and scolded me, called me a traitor to a friend and a damned creature, because I would not pardon a man of his clan who was close and dear to him, but who had committed unforgivable murder. Bel Etir Baj thought that for his sake, I would tolerate anything and give to him whatever he longed for simply because he was my friend, and my Bonded Brother. But I, as the Gos athor and an admiral of the fleet, had to uphold the law, of course, and had the murderer walk out of the ship without a spacesuit, a swift death anyway instead of long suffering I could have had inflicted as well, even as the law would have demanded. The man had violated and killed a pregnant woman, during port leave.

But Bel-he could not see reality and turned to a world in his own mind, where he had no responsibility and no guilt to bear himself, and only the others were evil, and bore the blame. We parted, and not on good terms, and have not come together again. Much as I regretted it to leave him behind-Bel Etir Baj was the man I had befriended no longer, and the man he had become was not a person I would have found a liking for at all.

Neither a brother nor a sister nor a comrade belongs to us to have for all time. Nothing can be taken for granted; friends and lovers come and should be appreciated and rejoiced in because one day they might go or be lost. But on the other hand, others will come instead to be our friends and our family. One must not close one’s heart so it will be healed again. Never despair if you lose someone you cared for. You do not know what joy the future might hold.”

The held on to each other tightly, embracing. “Yes, my beloved Gos athor”, she whispered. “Hold me, and we will be each other’s future, as we are together in the present time. Soy Votanthare.”

“Soy Votanthare.” Atlan kissed her again and felt full of joy and hope.

They returned to the Taisaya and took their place on the floor for the Cotilonna, the timeless and ageless elegant dance of the Court of Arkon at the most important ceremonies. The orchestra made ready, and a choir of children stood ready in formation to sing to the Goddess of Life and Abundance and ask for her blessing.

The music began to play, and they turned gracefully and slowly to the ancient tune, following the steps and figures their ancestors of thousands of years ago had danced to as well, in this hall, in this palace, at this time of the year. 

By the very movements and steps, the Gods were invoked, and by this very tune and song, they were prayed to, to give many and healthy children to the Arkonath, and let their fields and herds be blessed and thrive. Atlan and Sinyagi let themselves be carried away by the music and the emotions it evoked and felt happy as they never had before. 

After the Dance, the High Priestess gave them all Her blessing and prayed to the Goddess, and with that Third Eve of the Katanoi da Capit had come to an end. What would follow now would be done in private. Holy fire baskets, sacred to the She’huan, the Gods of the Stars, had already been brought to the sleeping chambers of the Imperator and the Gos athor to hold the fire the couples dedicating themselves to the Goddess would light, and to burn the sacrifices of strands of hair, and the small packages of ritual gifts which had been prepared.

Hand in hand the Gos athor and his beloved went to his apartment. His future was bright, he thought full of joy, and held every promise. The Maahks would be defeated, chased away, and annihilated in the end. To accomplish that in full would take many years, perhaps longer than his own lifetime and his reign. But Arkon was saved now with this new weapon ready to be deployed, and he would fight the Maahks with it in the first flight and be victorious!

He had found his love and would marry her after the next Katanoi. Yes, this coming year would change his life indeed, totally, the life he knew transforming into something new and unknown as yet. Great and most important things would happen and be accomplished, and his world would never be the same again.

At this very moment, Atlan heard a gush of laughter in his mind, stentorian and echoing. For a moment he winced and realized that no-one but him noticed it, that this roaring laughter could be discerned only mentally, and only by him. He did not need the reminder of his photographic memory or the explanation of his logic sector to know where and when he had heard the same kind of laughter before: this had been the only greeting and utterance of the strange and incomprehensible being which had given him the construction plans for the converter cannon and had had its robot hand to him the strange gadget he had worn day and night since, the cellular activator which would make him immortal, a matter which the Gos athor da Arkon could not conceive of fully yet either. 

He did not know what it was that amused the unknown being so, but he got a very uneasy feeling in his heart. Forcefully shaking those premonitions off Atlan went on with his love on his arm. The Imperator had agreed to his marriage plans. What could go wrong anymore now, anyway?

**Author's Note:**

> For those who have not caught on to the twist: the next year 10.517 da Ark, the year Atlan puts his hopes in and expects to change his life, will do so indeed, though differently than he thinks. That year he will be sent by Mascsant Sakal to Larsaf three right out of a battle that threatens to become lost, to save him. The information that he has been sent away and where to gets lost in battle and is not sent on to Arkon when Mascant Sakal's flagship is destroyed only minutes after Atlan's ship has gone into transition and has left the battleground. His family, and the whole of the Tai Ark'Tussan, think him dead and gone, and so no-one searches for him or believes him to be alive still. Atlan comes to Larsaf three, which is our Earth, only to find Atlantis under attack and the other Arkonath ships wrecked. With his last ship, he fights for Earth and for mankind and barely manages to save both, though at great cost: Atlantis sinks beneath the waves, the ship explodes after the captain has thrown the Gos athor out to save his life for the Empire, and Atlan is forced to retreat beneath the waves of the Atlantic ocean where an Arkonath station is hidden. There is no way for him to call through to his people. He will hibernate down there in the station, the Dome, for ten thousand years, indeed made immortal by the cellular activator, and from time to time he will waken to save Earth and mankind again from various dangers, for example invading aliens, and does his best to teach humans and help their development along, in the hope of one day being able to build a ship with their help and return home to Arkon. He meets various human celebrities and persons of historical importance during his exile upon Earth and becomes Perry Rhodan's friend in 2040 after he has fought him. You can look up Atlan's full biography on Perrypedia, the Perry Rhodan website.


End file.
